


The Scared Puppy Approach

by EmeraldAshes



Series: Connor Murphy: Animal Lover [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Adorable Connor, But somebody is around..., Connor Murphy: Secret Dork, Dogs, Falling in a Forest, M/M, Protective Connor, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: Maybe, if Connor’s parents had gotten him the dog he wanted, he wouldn’t have gone and adopted a suicidal teenager.





	The Scared Puppy Approach

Contrary to popular belief, Connor didn’t just go to the park to get high. Sure, it was secluded and didn’t hold the smell, and he often did get high there. But he didn’t _just_ go to the park to get high…

“Can I pet your dog?” Connor was already stroking the smooth, dark head before the question had fully left his lips.

…He also went to see the dogs.

The black-and-white dog wagged her tail and pressed her muzzle against his hand. She seemed thrilled that Connor had stopped to pet her. He shared her enthusiasm. “Aren’t you beautiful? Aren’t you the prettiest girl in the whole world? Yes you are!”

The man walking “the prettiest girl in the whole world” cleared his throat.

Connor glanced up at him. “She’s part Basenji, right?”

The man frowned. “She’s a rescue. The vet says she’s got some Collie in her.”

“Maybe, but definitely Basenji,” Connor said. The dog—with her sleek fur and sharp ears—looked like she belonged on a cave wall. She truly was beautiful.

Connor reluctantly parted from the part-Basenji beauty when her owner dragged her away to continue their walk.

Connor had started asking for a dog at four-years-old, and he had never stopped. Hell, he’d even managed to talk his second therapist into declaring that a pet might improve his mental state. There had been limited discussion around buying him a goldfish, but even that had quickly petered out.

Unfortunately, the Murphys just weren’t wired for animals. Larry held a quiet disdain for Connor’s ability to name every ACA breed. Zoe could barely muster a polite disinterest in her friends’ pets. Cynthia had encouraged Connor’s interest, but she had also shrieked and shrieked the day he brought home a one-eyed Beagle puppy. Larry thought that was a funny story to tell at holiday parties, but it wasn’t fucking funny. Connor remembered racing out with the puppy and losing it during a sudden thunderstorm. He remembered wondering if someone else had found the Beagle and kept him safe. Probably not.

Connor had volunteered at an animal shelter for a while, but he wasn’t allowed back after attempting a prison break. He had then gone through a brief PETA phases, which had died a painful death when he learned about their euthanasia rates.

Until he was old enough to adopt his own pet, Connor would settle for stalking dog walkers. He sat on a bench and waited for his next victim to arrive. One of the squirrels, emboldened by peanut bribes from tourists, approached him. The chubby rodent sat a foot from Connor’s converse, watching him.

He looked it dead in the eye. “I’m not feeding you.”

The squirrel blinked. Connor relished the small victory as his phone buzzed. A text from Zoe read, “Mom wants to know if you’re coming home for dinner.”

“I just stared down a squirrel.”

“Whatev, Dr Doolittle,” her next text read. Another quickly followed, “I’m gonna tell her no”

Connor spied a fluffy, white Maltese in the distance and mentally prepared his next ambush. Then, a thud echoed through the forest. A soft whimper followed it. Something had fallen, and it was hurt.

Connor immediately took off into the trees, silent so that he wouldn’t miss the next whimper. The pained sound led him to a towering oak tree and sprawled against its roots…

“Evan Hansen?”

The boy was on his back, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. He looked pale, like all the blood had left his body.

“You came,” Evan murmured, and Connor was going to chalk that up to the pain because it made no fucking sense. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even talked to Hansen before.

Connor crouched down next to him. “What the hell happened?”

Evan looked past him, gaze fixed on the branches above. “I—I was in the oak.”

Connor felt sick. Evan—dazed and still—reminded him of a baby bird he had once found at the base of a tree. He had put it in a shoebox full of newspaper and tried to feed it sunflower seeds. But it wouldn’t eat.

The next morning, it had died.

“Shit. How high up were you when you fell?”

Evan’s eyes turned toward him, blinks slow and heavy. “I didn’t fall, I…forty feet, maybe?”

“Shit,” Connor said more emphatically. “Can you feel your toes?”

Evan was trembling. “Y-yeah. I’m f-f-fine. I’m…I think maybe my arm is broken.”

“Hey,” Connor said gently, stroking Evan’s hair. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

Evan leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. His hair felt thick and soft, like a golden retriever.

“Good boy,” Connor murmured as he fished out his cellphone. It occurred to him that he had never taken care of an injured human before. Evan seemed to be responding well to the scared puppy approach, though, so Connor would roll with it.

A woman’s voice answered his call. “911. What’s your emergency?”

“Hey, yeah, I’m at Emerson Park. This guy fell out of a tree. I think just his arm’s broken, but he’s kind of loopy. I’m not a fucking idiot, so I’m not gonna move him.”

“An ambulance is on the way. Could you go to the park’s entrance to lead the paramedics to your position?”

Connor looked down at Evan, gently tugging his hair to get his attention. “Hey, are you okay if I go get the paramedics?”

“I…I…sure.” Evan looked away. The trembling started back up again.

“Yeah, didn’t think so”—Connor removed his hand from Evan’s hair, his heartstrings tugged by Evan’s pained whimper—“Give me like thirty seconds.”

Connor raced toward the path and shouted, “You, chick with the Maltese. Yeah, _you._ My friend’s hurt, and an ambulance is coming. Could you bring the EMTs here?”

The girl—tall, her hair swept up in a sweaty bun—stared at him.

Connor fought the urge to call her an idiot and tried to arrange his face into a pleading, puppy eyes expression. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

The girl said, “Alright. Is he…?”

“I think it’s just a broken arm, but”—Connor shrugged—“Also, um, can I borrow your dog?”

When he returned, Connor set the Maltese beside Evan’s head. “His name is Muffin.”

Evan tentatively reached up to scratch behind Muffin’s ear.

Connor smiled. “Good boy.”

Evan smiled back. “I, uh, honestly can’t tell if you’re talking to me or Muffin.”

“Both.”

“You know I’m not a d-dog, right?”

“The whole talking back thing clued me in.” Connor’s voice was soft and teasing, so much gentler than usual.

Evan laughed, and Connor resumed stroking his hair. Evan closed his eyes and let out a long, whistling sigh. Cute.

Connor felt utterly relaxed. “I still kind of want to adopt you, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> An old driving instructor of mine used to say, "Good girl" every time I didn't crash the car. I was always really torn about it because, on the one hand, I wasn't a dog and didn't care to be patronized. On the other hand, I was a good girl.
> 
> Also, there's a sequel to this in the works.


End file.
